


Singed Fingers

by fadagaski



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Light Dom/sub, Post-Coital Cuddling, Seduction, Spanking, Sparring, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:24:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5303723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadagaski/pseuds/fadagaski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toast has always been drawn to fire, and Furiosa is the fiercest inferno in the desert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @schwarmerei1: Furiosa/Toast, one successfully turns the other on.

When Toast was a girl on the Farm, she liked to play with fire. She singed her fingers, her clothes, even her eyebrows (once). It earned the nickname she now wears with pride.

Nothing has changed.

Furiosa is the deadliest fire in the desert, a swirling vortex of power and green flame. Toast has long watched her - in the Vault, in the Rig, in the new order - and her old pyromaniac tendencies have not waned.

Toast is not one to sit by when something she wants is dancing just out of reach. She got into the Rig. She reloaded the gun and aimed it true. This is what she wants.

But like a fire, Toast knows Furiosa must be handled with care, managed and cajoled, fed the right fuel for the right reaction - or Toast risks an explosion that will singe more than her eyebrows.

She starts cautious. Brings tea in the mornings. Chooses watch duties that align. Sits with thighs pressed together at the too-narrow table at mealtimes. 

Builds slowly to other things. Leaning over and around each other as they work on an engine. Solid arms around Toast showing her how to aim a new rifle. The strong grip of hands on her wrists, teaching her fight manoeuvres. Toast gets used to the smell of Furiosa up close - salt and skin and musk.

She dreams of it at night and wakes slick between her thighs. 

And then one day they are sparring. Furiosa has been working for weeks on helping Toast overpower assailants bigger than her (everyone is bigger than her, including a good few of the pups). Toast is sweaty and panting and frustrated but she is determined to get this. 

“Again,” Furiosa says in that low, curt voice that pulses at Toast’s core. 

Teeth gritted, they run through the motions again, muscle learning memory and mind two steps ahead. 

Somebody clatters down the corridor. Furiosa is distracted.

Toast has her legs tangled in one heartbeat, pinned beneath her the next, sitting astride the small of Furiosa’s back with the strong forearm hoisted up between her shoulder blades. 

Toast lets out a raggedy breath. Then, grinning hard enough to hurt, she whoops a little cheer. 

Furiosa explodes in a dizzying whirl of movement. 

Toast finds herself flat on her back and breathless, Furiosa pressing down on her. She is solid and secure, pulsing heat where they are connected from chest to thighs. Her green eyes are glowing.

“Good,” she says. “You almost had me.”

Toast’s head hurts where it smacked against the floor but she doesn’t much care. Her heart sings with pride; if she’d had a weapon, she would have won that match. She feels swollen with the thrill of it, adrenaline and success pulsing in her veins. She feels like she could take on the world.

Furiosa smiles and shifts her legs to take her weight off Toast.

Cresting the wave of success, Toast cranes her neck and plants a kiss off-centre to Furiosa’s lips.

Furiosa goes still.

Toast lets her head fall back. She has touched the fire. Heart pounding in her chest, she waits for the flare of pain. 

With careful movements, Furiosa extricates herself from their tangle of legs. She crouches, all banked energy, watching as Toast works herself upright. 

Furiosa’s gaze is like a brand as it blisters over Toast’s skin. “What was that?” she demands. 

Toast stares Furiosa down, unflinching. “Exactly what it seemed,” she says. 

Eyebrows raising, Furiosa doesn’t seem to know what to say. Toast, flush with victory, takes her opportunity. She rises to her feet, feeling the weight of Furiosa’s focus on her. Then she offers her hand. 

With Furiosa, sometimes words aren’t necessary. It takes a few long moments - Toast’s heart hammers at her ribcage - but Furiosa reaches up and takes Toast’s hand, lets her pull her upright. 

Toast has spent her entire life physically looking up to people who are bigger and stronger than her, and has hated the feeling of powerlessness it gave her. But Furiosa is different. Toast can palm Furiosa’s cheek - hot, so hot, she is always an inferno against Toast’s skin - and draw her down and Furiosa bends.

Eyes closing, Toast presses her mouth to Furiosa’s. 

When Furiosa parts her lips, it unleashes a wall of wet heat that has Toast gasping. Their tongues slide against each other and Toast can feel the fire ignite inside her. 

Furiosa runs her fingers through Toast’s hair and they kiss and kiss and kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous requested: 15 - spanking. Furiosa spanking Toast over the knee? Not as punishment but because Toast wants to be out of her head and they both like it? Fingering/orgasms optional but please can there be sweet cuddles after? *blushes bright red and sidles away*

It’s been a long fucking day at the end of a series of long fucking days and Toast is fucking _done_. She blazes past her Warboys and her Sisters and whoever the fuck else is in her way, storms up the stairs two at a time until she can smash open the door to the room she shares with Furiosa, slamming it shut behind. 

It is cool and calm and quiet.

Too fucking quiet. Toast is all wound up, frustration knotted inside her with no outlet, no Furiosa there to read her mind. She won’t be back for another couple of days at least - another fucking irritation to piss her off.

She launches a vicious kick at the stool. It goes flying, one spindly leg snapping off. Toast bares her teeth and whirls to find something else.

The workbench is next: all its contents shatter to the floor. It’s bolted down but Toast picks up the broken stool and swings it hard as she can against the rusty metal. The noise of impact is brutally loud. Toast keeps hitting. Her arms hurt and her chest is tight and she can barely see for the red rage surging inside her. 

A creak of hinges as the door opens. 

Toast pivots, lifts the stool legs up in defence. 

Furiosa stands her ground, impassive. 

The breath leaves Toast in a whoosh. She lowers the stool, lets it slip out of fingers gone tingly-numb from violence. 

There’s a storm still swirling in her brain but just seeing Furiosa drains some of the tension out of her shoulders. 

Furiosa takes measured steps towards her, ignores the destruction of their room in favour of Toast’s face. When she is only a foot in front of Toast, Furiosa lifts her arms out. 

Toast crashes in. 

Warm and solid and _safe_. Toast buries her face against Furiosa’s breasts, wraps her arms around her waist and keens. 

“I know,” Furiosa says. Her hand is gentle, carding through Toast’s hair. “I know.”

The rage in Toast shudders back down, banked to something manageable. When Furiosa takes Toast by the hand and leads her to their bed, she goes without question. When Furiosa sits on the thin mattress, Toast stands before her, patient and shivery. When Furiosa curls her fingers into the waistband of Toast’s shorts, Toast shimmies her hips until the material has slipped down her legs. She steps out of them, takes deep breaths, and waits. Already she feels better, feels centred, the world softer and her mind hazy.

“Down,” Furiosa says, tugging on Toast’s arm. She flows like liquid, pouring across Furiosa’s lap. Her thighs are thick, hot, a firm surface under Toast’s belly, pressed hard against the knot of anger pulsing under her ribcage. Toast lets her head hang, fingers brushing the floor. The muscles in her legs are quivering but, as Furiosa brushes the back of her hand over the swell of Toast’s ass, everything slows down.

She breathes in. Breathes out.

The smack is sudden, makes Toast flinch before the sting of it spreads over her skin. Furiosa strokes over the burning mark. The blood flows faster through Toast’s veins. She holds still.

Another smack, to the other cheek. Toast bleats a little whimper. Furiosa strokes her nub soothingly over Toast’s shoulders. Then - a third hit. 

Toast breathes increasingly shaky breaths. The burn blisters over her skin, turns abruptly cool in the chill air of the room. She can feel the blank, buzzy calm sweeping over her. 

Furiosa smacks again.

Toast lets her thoughts _slide_.

The room echoes with the slap of Furiosa’s hand against Toast’s ass, every hit paired with an instinctive whimper. Toast doesn’t count - couldn’t, even if she tried. She’s awash in a sea of tranquillity. Her ears are ringing and her vision has narrowed to the bare rock in front of her. Her whole body feels slow and wavy. 

Time flows over Toast without notice. When Furiosa runs a questing hand between Toast’s thighs, she parts them to make way. She’s wet already, mind empty but body full with need. Furiosa dips her fingers into Toast’s juices, gathering moisture, then drags her nails lightly over the seam of her labia. Toast squirms. 

Another smack, shockingly loud. Toast cries out. 

She forces herself to hold still as Furiosa’s fingers return to her cunt. They are firmer, more insistent this time. Her lips part and then Furiosa is rubbing over Toast’s clit.

Toast mewls, can’t help herself, rolls her hips against Furiosa’s hand until she’s pinned still by the nub against the small of her back. Furiosa gathers more slick, smears it over and around Toast’s clit. Toast is vibrating with need, all thoughts consumed with the hot pulse between her legs. 

Furiosa makes her lie still for a few more torturous moments, then lifts her nub.

Toast grinds against the hard pressure of Furiosa’s fingers on her clit. She is sweaty and dizzy with lack of breath, mind buzzing and body working on instinct. Furiosa keeps her hand in exactly the right place and lets Toast work her way to climax.

It doesn’t take long before she’s coming with a loud cry, juices flooding out of her as her inner walls flutter. 

Everything whites out.

Toast comes back to herself in stages. Furiosa’s hand rubbing circles on her back. Her fingers and toes brushing the rough stone floor. The ache in her belly from being pressed against Furiosa’s thighs. The sting of abused skin on her ass, and the slick throb between her legs. Sweat and tears on her cheeks. Hitching breaths.

“Back now,” Furiosa murmurs. 

She helps Toast to her feet. Her whole body is sore, the muscles uncooperative. Furiosa guides Toast into bed, slipping under the covers behind her. She pulls Toast close, fingers carding through her hair once more. Toast rests her head against Furiosa’s breasts. The bellows of her lungs and the drum of her heart is better than any childhood lullaby. 

“Better?” Furiosa asks. 

Toast nods, mute, the words swirled out of her head along with everything else. She feels empty and full, hot and cold.

Mostly she feels loved, and that’s how she falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on tumblr for more [Mad Max mayhem](http://fadagaski.tumblr.com).


End file.
